(Un)clothed

Stuck at the same ol’ place again

And I’ve no where else to go

So, I’ll hide like a hermit in this dear cave

And, embrace this loneliness,

Unacknowledged

Stuck with the same ol’ dialogue

And, I the right words don’t ever seem to come

So, I’ll take with heart this monologue

And, keep saying the same boring things,

Unheard

Stuck in the same ol’ solitude

And, I’m at a loss for friends

So, I’ll write this stupid poem

And, give my secrets to these keys,

Uninspired

Stuck with this same ol’ weight

And, the stigma will never fade

So, I’ll probably start a fight

And, apologize, taking the blame,

Unfair

Stuck in this same ol’ frigidness

And, your laughter pierces these tears

So, I’ll cry where you won’t see me

And, blame my red eyes on the cold,

Uncomforted

Stuck with this same ol’ wishful thinking

And, the disappointment never ends

So, I’ll remember potential doesn’t matter

And, accept it’s my fault for hoping,

Unsatisfied

Stuck in this same ol’ depression

And, I’m sure you’re right

So, I’ll retire to bed alone again

And, believe it’s all in my head,

Understandable

Gramatical Ballet (he says)

He read my writing upon request;

Then answered my queries appropriately

His thoughts:

Yes, good, but what about beauty?

What about description?

What about suspense lasting to the end?

I took his words.

Wrote my own.

But, I couldn't satisfy his suggestions,

I couldn't find any words to put together--

Or, dashed next lines;

Or, semi-coloned phrases,

To his liking

We no longer spoke about what I could do

Or, couldn't do

Or, write

Or, paint

Or, be

We just were as we were

Living together with love

And, companionship

With the side-by-side yearning of what was

And, the minute-by-minute monotony of what is

We were what life had made us

So, "Why not write about pretty things?"

"Why stick to the emo-depressive?"

"Write it sweet."

"Write it descriptive."

"Write it as you are."

But, I couldn't.

Though, I spent many nights--

Attempts lost to the backspace key

And, a "Continue" response to the delete pop-up

In the back room while the light in our bedroom shone

So, many times I danced words around my eyes

On the nights we ventured out--

"The aroma of the pretzels,

Tickling my nose,

As if to wake me in the morning with the surprise,

The sweet cinnamon rolls of breakfast in bed."

Or,

"The bustle, the rustle of the shopping bags,

The dizziness imposed by children, whipping around with joy,

Waiting in line to see the Easter Bunny,

Melting our hearts with their innocence."

None.

I could write none.

In the car he would say, "I like this song."

Puzzled, I stared

"It's about unrequited love."

So, I listened as the singer sings her words

And, I think of all the adjectives I'm living -

List them

I think of how we're connecting

The 1-800 calls aren't coming in every hour,

Leaving me peaceful

"I can finally afford a bottle of wine."

Destination--

Romance

Because

His hand, Oh,

His hand feels so pretty holding mine

And, my evening full of expectations

Leave me with a smile

Then, at home, with my glass of wine

I sit in the back room

The light from the bedroom shines through

And, my "apple-green ice cream song" is playing

With that I pretended to write

There are no sugar-filled pastries

Or, happy children smiling

Or, romantic evenings

Or, thrill of the sunset

Or, the stars

Or, sensitively, fantastic Happy Phantoms

Acting as verbalization

All I've got is the same unrequited love

And the tears in my glass

And the darkening of my lungs

And, what I write is

What it is

Not what we were,

But what we are

Independently settling

And, accepting

We are simply as everyone else--

A lack of pleasant adjectives, removing the suspense,

And, waiting for the easy-beauty that can't be held for long

But, always floats around

As a memory disguised as something that can be caught

　

Ode to Mr. Tweedy (Thanks for the other night)

Ode to Mr. Tweedy
(Thanks for the other night)

The tips of his fingers softly caressing,
Gently sliding up and down the length of her neck
His palm encompassing her as he moves
Slowly taking in her beauty
His other hand holds her curvaceous body
Rhythmically the pace quickens
Pressing harder into her with all of his passion
She responds to his seduction
Every time
Quicker and quicker
Harder and harder
He pushes to her
As she answers his commands each time
Fingers up and down, throughout her, within her, he moves
Spectators on the sidelines hear her moans
She cries for more
They feel her as she quivers to the power of his touch
And as they hear, and feel, and see
All they can do is ache to know the ecstasy in his veneration

Shadow Ppl

I close my eyes to fade away
Locked in, tucked in,
Alone and warm under my blankets,
Suspension between the Here and the Unconsciousness
Aid in the lie of Peacefulness

(Unaware)
Shuffles breeze against my cheek
I’m startled by an unexpected scamper
Shadows slowly drifting beneath my door

One-by-one they glide, taking their place along my smoke-stained walls,
Covering the worn-out flower pattern until every inch is Darkness

(Terrified)
My eyes glance over, dancing over each figure--
Spin, spin, dipMy pupils focus on:
Nothingness
And,
Nothing still
An emptiness of depth
I blink to rewet,
(An attempt to rattle my sight)
My hands clinch the pillow,
My voice screams in whispers, “wake-up, wake-up”

(Halted)
Until alas I see shades
And hues of indigo, of crimson
I see the beauty that can only come from Imperfection

(Stoically)
I inhale my fear, smelling the sweetness of Acceptance

My eyes close again, heavy from exhaustion
Fading away, as intended
Curled up, rolling, and uncovered
Opening much later
Resigning these figures and this sleepless restfulness
To Reality
Wherein the spectrum of the shadows dissipate into a
Fog of silky holiness--
A gossamer memory
I weep inside to know my tears can’t decipher the This-From-That
Desire from Hate 
All they know is to fall and be soaked into the earth
Falling further into the blues and reds
The purples
The blacks 
As I’m swallowed by Shadow People
Every night,
As I float through time
On and on and on again

Our Children: past, present, and future

Playground, let me play on you
climb your stairs, then slide down
back down again;
yes, keep getting up--
for the thrill of the climb
Same destination every time
a seemless float back down to the ground

Playground, let me play in you
jump your hurdles
grasp your ropes
until my palms are red
and rope-burned
swinging through the sting

Playground, let me conquer you
make it to the top of your tower
risk my wet soles on your slippery footholds
reach for the sun that seems so close

Playground, let me play with you
just a few more times
until the ground turns to asphalt
the footholds turn to elevators
the slide down becomes rocky
and the ropes turn against me--
choking what's left of innocence

Funeral Days

Funeral days

I’ve got a secret, just for you.

Would you happen to have any for me?

I was foolish that day last summer,

When I neglected the time, leaving early.

Convincing you I had prior engagements

When the truth was it was just too painful

To sit on the couch beside you,

You, holding my child on your lap

Laughing through talks of cartoons

There are things I forgot to tell you

Or, maybe I just lacked the courage

The smell of death, it just scared me

I saw my future asleep in your fading eyes

There was terror, and, yes, there’s regret

Boy, I wish you’d have known me

Because I have always known you

Few were the days we met

All darkened by the same heavy cloud

But even through somber occasions,

Your smile rubbed off on my face

How selfish to mourn you now

When I could have easily stayed, holding your hand

You would have let me tell you all of it,

Especially the part where I loved you.

We might have one day been friends,

Then again, I had 23 years.

A hundred more wouldn’t have made the difference.

So, I wanted to tell you my secret before you left for good:

I cried the whole way home that day

Knowing our chance had passed

When we embraced good-bye for the last time

And I kissed you on the cheek

My lips tasted your morphine sweat

But still, I held onto a hope there would be one more day

One more funeral to attend

Before it was you in the coffin.

Pretty-Thing

When I saw myself as beautiful

He was most certainly my match

Big brown eyes scorching me--

Distinguished features

All adding up at 23 years to be the picture of my perfection

His frame was tiny though tall

But defined with every curve

He was my ideal pretty-thing, when I could look in the mirror

If I looked deeper into that body—through his outer shell

I could see so much more than attraction

I could see what made him Beauty

Our passions were much the same

Our thoughts all aligned

Nothing to hide from each other

We both did our share of what we shouldn’t have--

We even slept with the same type of people

But time passed by--

So much time,

Since I’ve seen the beauty I have missed

Now I doubt I could look in his eyes

To see how much more is inside

Much more is in doubt

That I can let him see me

Because I’m not the same-old pretty-thing I was

And no longer are we equally matched.

Snip-It

You are a snippet of time--

No longer does it exist in my world

My head, forcing a vacancy,
My heart, blanketing holes,
For me, there were no trips
To Tralfamadore
(Even if we dreamt it.)

I am no longer stuck in time--

There are no more movies playing of these past events--
Taking place
In my swirling, corrupted brain

It is just me, here
Today,
If Luck provides there may be Tomorrow
But, truthfully,
It is not as welcomed
As Today

So, Sweetness,
Before my sight becomes Darker,
Before I begin to Morph into someone I’ve Killed before,
Before you begin to Mutate into the Murderous hound
(That I know, you hate to be),
I’ll start Draining--
I’ll start Sucking --
Bleeding the Yesterdays

Because, now, Today
Your existence
Has no more affect than the ant I squashed on the bathroom floor

If I awake Tomorrow--
With minor Scars from spikes
(Once a pain weighing down my neck),
I won’t question their origin,
I won’t care

Because Today, Yesterday is a memory
And, Tomorrow, Yesterday
Will no longer exist

We are a snippet of time--

And, no longer do we exists.

Ode To Under-Appreciated Left-Overs

Ode To Under-Appreciated Left-Overs

(Ode To Laundry Detergent)

For the music and rhythm,

I thank you

For the Laughter in tears and sadness in Joy,

I thank you

For the cans of Coke,

I thank you

For the couch in times of lonesomeness,

I thank you

For the multiple puffs of Kentucky’s Best,

I thank you

For the Talents of Mania;

Power in Grandeur;

Soulfulness of Depressive thoughts;

Self-Awareness in Anger,

I thank you

For a garage and eternity full of memories,

I thank you

For the Lyrics of my poetry;

Songs in my actions;

Cadence in my grief;

Melody in my Love,

I thank you

For the Safety in Protectiveness,

I thank you

For the late night talks,

I thank you

For Sisterhood bonded in Loss,

I thank you

For the Understanding found in Tragic people,

I thank you

And--

For the surprise of Gratitude for a left-over bottle of laundry detergent,

I thank you